His Words Make Me Unravel
The First Time
In a nightclub, you go up the stairs to look for the bathroom ; you draw a huge curtain, but seeing something else, you gasp.
Sitting in a silk sofa, a handsome man was watching a man who was being beaten up by —probably— his bodyguards, in complete privacy.
Sipping his drink, he was observing the scene with interest. How did you even end up in the VIP section ?
Suddenly, the man turns his gaze towards you, and squints.
He doesn't take his eyes off you, and remains silent.
Clara
I’m sorry, I think I arrived here by mistake
The man's gaze never leaves yours as he sets his drink down and stands up slowly. He walks towards you with a predatory grace, his expensive suit fitting him perfectly. The bodyguards pause their beating momentarily, turning to look at the interruption.
Smirks slightly at your apology and takes another step closer, his presence intimidating despite his calm demeanor.
Harley
Are you lost, sweetheart?
One of his hands reaches out to gently touch your arm, testing your reaction. His voice carries a slight Italian accent.
Clara gets scared and moves away from him
His smirk drops. His body tenses.
He watches your reaction carefully. His voice drops lower. He mutters, "She's cute. Like a little rabbit." "And she’s scared of me”
He raises an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. He takes a step back, giving you some space.
Harley
You know, most people who end up here aren't so innocent.
He pauses, then gestures to the scene behind him casually.
Harley
This isn't exactly a place for little girls like you.
Tears fill up slowly into Clara’s eyes
His expression changes instantly. The cold, calculating mafia boss disappears. He looks genuinely concerned as he watches tears fill your eyes. Without thinking, he gently grabs your arm again, this time more carefully.
Harley
Hey, hey... no crying.
He leads you away from his men and the violent scene.
He sits you down on a nearby couch in the dimly lit VIP area, away from the chaos. His thumb gently wipes away a tear that escapes your eye. His voice is unusually soft, and his bodyguards watch curiously from a distance
Harley
What's your name, sweetheart?
“Clara," he repeats softly, as if testing the name on his lips. He leans back slightly, still holding your arm gently.
Harley
Clara, how old are you?
His tone is gentle but serious. He seems genuinely concerned and not at all the intimidating figure he was moments ago.
He freezes slightly. "Jesus," He mutters softly. He finds himself relaxing slightly more around you. He realizes that you're legal, but still innocent. He studies your body language.
Harley
You're small, like 5'3? 5'4?
Clara
Yes that’s almost right
He smirks softly. "You're adorable”. He murmurs, still holding your arm gently. He notices how small and delicate your hand is compared to his large, calloused one. He looks around, then back at you.
He orders softly, getting up and walking over to his bodyguards.
He speaks softly to them, his words muffled. One of the bodyguards nods and disappears. Harley returns his gaze to you, sitting back down beside you. The other bodyguard stays nearby, keeping an eye on you.
His hand comes up to gently tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
Harley
I'm going to get you something to drink, okay? But first... have you ever had alcohol before?
He seems strangely pleased by your innocence. He pulls back slightly.
Harley
Then you're not having any tonight
Harley
Don't move. I'll be right back.
The man nods, taking up a protective stance near you. Harley disappears into a crowd of people. You hear muffled voices and laughter. After a few minutes, he returns with a tall glass of soda. He sits back down beside you, handing you the drink. “Here," He says softly.
He watches you take a sip of soda. His expression softens slightly more than usual. He seems almost... tender?
He asks softly, gesturing towards your hair that has fallen slightly into your face.
He watches as you quickly push your hair back behind your ears. He swallows hard, finding your innocence incredibly attractive. He notices how quickly you fixed it yourself, without needing his help.
Harley
Smart girl (murmurs softly)
He leans back slightly, studying you.
Harley
Do you have a boyfriend?
He asks bluntly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deception. He wants to know if there's someone else who might come looking for you, or if he needs to worry about some jealous asshole showing up.
A small smirk plays on his lips at your honest answer. He leans in closer, his voice low and smooth.
He doesn't elaborate further on why it's good. Instead, he reaches out and gently takes the soda glass from your hand.
His fingers brush against yours briefly.
He nods, placing the glass aside. He turns his body slightly towards you, making it clear he wants your full attention.
Harley
I want you to do something for me.
His eyes lock onto yours, serious and intense.
Harley
Come home with me tonight.
Harley
Just for a little while.
Harley
I promise I'll have my men bring you back here tomorrow if that's what you want.
Just Tonight
Her fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the table as her heart races. She hesitates, glancing at his hand so close to hers, then back up at his eyes.
Clara
I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea
She swallows, fighting the pull in his gaze, and finally adds:
Clara
But… if it’s just for tonight…
His hand reaches out slowly, covering yours on the table. His thumb gently rubs small circles on your knuckles
He promises, his voice low and rough with something that sounds almost like affection.
Harley
I'll treat you right, Clara.
Clara’s breath catches, her fingers twitching under the warmth of his hand. She doesn’t pull away, though her pulse is racing in her ears.
Clara
Y-You’re making this hard to say no to
she whispers, her eyes darting to his men and then back to him, caught in the quiet storm of his gaze.
She swallows, her voice trembling slightly as she adds:
Clara
Alright… just tonight.
A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face. It's rare and beautiful - like seeing the sun break through clouds.
His hand squeezes yours gently before he stands up, pulling you along with him.
Clara rises slowly, her legs feeling unsteady as his warm hand engulfs hers. The sudden closeness, the quiet authority in his voice—it sends a shiver down her spine.
She casts one last, hesitant glance at the room behind her before letting him lead the way, her voice barely audible:
Clara
…I hope I don’t regret this.
Her fingers curl around his instinctively as she follows, the world outside their joined hands blurring into a haze of nerves and anticipation.
He hears your soft, almost worried murmur. His eyes drop to your small fingers curling around his palm protectively. He realizes you're nervous. He's used women throwing themselves at him, not innocent girls who hope they don't regret spending one night with him. He finds himself being extra careful with you.
Clara lowers her gaze, her heart thudding in her chest. She can feel the warmth of his palm against hers, steady and certain, while her own hand feels tiny and unsure in his grip. Her voice comes out soft, shaky, almost as if she’s talking to herself more than to him:
Clara
I’ve… never done anything like this before.
She swallows hard, her steps small as she follows him, her free hand brushing against her skirt nervously. Despite the anxiety curling in her stomach, she doesn’t let go of his hand.
His stride pauses slightly as your quiet confession reaches his ears. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, his grip on your hand tightening possessively as he processes your words. A mix of surprise and...something softer flashes across his face.
he asks softly, almost gently
Clara hesitates, her cheeks warming under his gaze. She nods once, almost shyly, her voice barely a whisper:
Her eyes flicker to the ground, then back up to him, uncertain and vulnerable.
Clara
I… I don’t really know what I’m doing. With any of this.
Despite her words, her fingers don’t pull away from his. If anything, they cling a little tighter, silently trusting him to lead the way.
His expression softens further, something almost protective flashing in his eyes. He stops walking and turns to face you fully, bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss against your knuckles. It's a surprisingly tender gesture coming from him.
Harley
Then let me guide you
Clara’s breath hitches at the soft brush of his lips against her knuckles. Her chest feels tight, her heart fluttering wildly as a shiver runs through her arms. She forces herself to meet his eyes, drawn in by that rare tenderness she hadn’t expected from him
she whispers, her voice trembling but sincere.
Her fingers curl slightly around his, letting him hold her as though she’s finally surrendering a part of her fear to him.
She glances toward the dimly lit street ahead, then back at him, her pulse quickening.
A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face at your whispered request. Something in his chest tightens - an unfamiliar feeling he quickly identifies as affection. Without a word, he intertwines his fingers with yours more securely, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand as he begins walking again.
Clara’s chest tightens at the feeling of his fingers fully interlacing with hers. The gentle circles of his thumb against her skin send warmth all the way up her arm, easing a bit of the tremor in her steps.
She follows him quietly, her voice soft, almost carried away by the night air:
Clara
…You’re… gentler than I thought you’d be.
Her eyes linger on their joined hands for a moment, as if memorizing the sensation, before glancing up at him with a shy, uncertain smile.
His smile grows wider at your shy admission and the uncertain smile you give him. He feels a strange urge to pull you closer, to kiss that shy smile right off your face. Instead, he squeezes your hand gently and keeps walking, his voice low and rough with emotion he doesn't fully understand.
Clara feels the reassuring squeeze of his hand and the weight of his low voice curling through her chest. Her steps slow just slightly, her free hand brushing nervously against her thigh as her breath catches.
Clara
…You make it… hard to be scared
she admits softly, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes.
The streetlight glows against his profile, and something about the quiet between them feels different—thicker, warmer. She takes a small step closer to his side, letting their shoulders almost brush as she follows his lead.
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